After sitting a long
I went round to
some of the other
and asked: “How’s it going?”
and got answers like:
”Oh, slow. I only took in
forty bucks yesterday,” and
“thirty-five bucks since I set up
this morning. Not much,”
and I went back and
sat down in my booth,
depressed. After a long
sold one book and one
poster for a total of
four dollars, twenty-five cents.
It’s enough to make
a person ask
philosophical questions of himself.
If I sit here much longer,
my rear end
will grow moss on it
and my eyes will disappear like moons.
Already my elbows have sprouted roots
and my feet, grown flat from
disuse, have fallen asleep.
Outside, Waterman’s kid
is playing Frisbee in the court,
while across from me
his dad is smoking a cigarette and staring
at the stack of books in front of him.
When the red-haired poet
comes by with a bullhorn
announcing: “Lar Burke of the
Lake Street Review is reading in
the Fine Arts Lounge, come an’ hear
Lar Burke!” and there are only five
or six people standing around, not counting
Waterman and myself, I begin thinking
of Sartre, Camus and Sisyphus and
“What’s it all about, Alfie?”
The most activity around here is
Waterman’s kid, leaping after the
Bright red soaring saucer and the arc
Waterman’s cigarette makes as it descends
to the ashtray, caught between the fingers
of his left hand.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years ago when I attended these things, it really was that deadening. I added the following sardonic piece to the poem as a comment about the experience.
“Lament of a Small Press Publisher” was originally intended as an opera in the Romantic tradition of Beethoven, Wagner and Rossini. However, after considerable difficulty in casting it in so grand a scale, the composer decided to put it in the mode of a cantata for male voices and baroque ensemble. Since this, too, proved to be too complex for so simple an idea, he settled on a small work in Renaissance style for tenor voice accompanied by oboe and viola da gamba, thinking that such could “profitably be sung at Renaissance Festivals and art fairs.” The result is a hauntingly beautiful song reminiscent, in its rich harmonic textures, of the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch. The song may also, according to the composer’s notes, be accompanied by fiddle and guitar (or flute) “without losing a thing.”
The composer has held a variety of jobs throughout his career. Of his musical training, he says: “I listen to an awful lot of music.”
Dragon City Café